


Just Show Me What Love Looks Like

by semi_automatic, twenty_one_plants



Category: Trench - Twenty One Pilots (Album), Twenty One Pilots
Genre: (except for Jay), Also there's both bishop killing AND a vulture family that lives in the Bandito camps! ooooh!, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bandito, Banditos - Freeform, DEMA (Twenty One Pilots), Depression, Everyone Is Gay, Expanded lore, Friendly Blurryface, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control, Neurodiversity, Nightmares, Nonbinary Character, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Puppets, Red Bird AU, Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, TWs in notes prior to chapter starting, That character death warning is solely because there's a decent amount of death in this, This expands on a LOT of Trench lore oof, Trans Character, Trench Era, lots of death, trench
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:42:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17331185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semi_automatic/pseuds/semi_automatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/twenty_one_plants/pseuds/twenty_one_plants
Summary: What happens when you don't know the person you thought was the bad guy?What happens when there are more strings and puppets involved?A single red bird gets set free, and the Banditos don't know what to do about it.Wires hold in place, neon glows, and eyes roll back.





	Just Show Me What Love Looks Like

**Author's Note:**

> Hey you guys! It's me, the gay guy writing this! My Instagram is @ichorshark!!! Have fun reading this u guys!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings for Chapter 1:
> 
> Death by electrocution (mildly described), tones of unreality

_Hazel eyes are the last thing that have some semblance of life, hope in the hall. Tears illuminated by neon before deep blood red curtains and a towering statue. There’s a soft murmur of red cloaks overlapping the stoic breath of bodyguards. Trembling eyes. Sharp wire connects neck to wrists, a glimmer of crucifixion in neon form. Their eyes meet._

_Sparks fly, screams ring. He has to cover his eyes as the blistering neon light fills the room. Pained cries fill the worship hall as bishops speak among themselves_ . _It isn’t the first time Bandit has seen a sacrifice, but his chest heaves, his chest knows what was so special, what was so different about this time. The death is prolonged with an almost malice with the taste of metal and lead heavy in his mouth. The body on the table in front of the many pews convulses, burns brightly with the youth of hazel eyes, the scent of yellow dandelions, tattoos of imprisonment._

 

_It takes about 40 seconds, but Bandit wasn’t counting._

 

Bandit gasps sharply, brown eyes dancing in the neon as he ducks behind the pillar just a bit more, just enough for the bishops to not see him. His breath is restrained just as quiet as an animal trying to escape capture. _Chosen._ The body twitches with electricity, the neon illuminating the sacrificial table flickering lightly. It would become the boy’s headstone, which would then become forgotten in the rings of Dema.

Bandit feels like he’s falling. The bodyguards stand alert with poise, knowing their place as pets to the bishops. It doesn’t even register completely that Bandit witnessed someone die. It never registers, no matter how much he’s seen. His stomach feels light and high and he needs to go low. The churning in his stomach shifts to churning in his chest, then burns brighter, brighter, until his hands become singed and he almost screams out, hand scrambling for his belt.

A knife. That’s what’s in his hand now as he contemplates. The embers are barely showing in his heart, but they’re searing in anger. Crackling as his growl. Bandit has always known the bishops have bodyguards, yet he doesn’t expect to be met with glaring red and white and black as he launches himself forward but stops extremely short.

One of the bodyguards had turned its head slightly in Bandit’s direction, however, that wasn’t the source of Bandit’s hesitance, followed by sheer terror and a choked back scream. His breath catches in his throat as he feels suspended by those same wires that killed the one on the table, now limp with a rigidity similar to that of the cliffs surrounding his home. Tears well up as Bandit’s eyes flicker from the body lying under flickering neon light and the piercing gaze of red, white, black.

The creature had no mouth, no eyes, no nose. Blank. A smudged mask that Bandit couldn’t rip his eyes away from, the black that dripped down the bodyguard’s neck. It takes him a moment to process, but the mask turns away just as he does. Everything in his body is screaming, afraid, the embers splashed with water as he scrambles out of the worship hall and out the side door he wedged himself through.

 

The outside air is what makes him realize Bandit’s been crying the entire time. There’s proof of life in the shadows, and what Bandit witnessed is the record. The cold air bites his nose mercilessly.

 

For the first time, he feels alone.

 

“We need to get out. We need to retreat. Retreat!” Bandit shouts to the banditos coordinated beside the worship hall, having found a storage warehouse. Some banditos look up, others already start scrambling with packs full of supplies stolen from Dema. Muttering rises as everyone rushes back to the tunnels.

Everything feels so slow. Bandit has a difficult time walking, hands numb and throat tight, feeling coated with black just as that _thing’s_ was. His boots crunch the gravel lightly as they walk ducked under the bland housing facilities, then to the outer rim of Dema. The night air bites too harsh, Bandit sniffling and moving his bandana to cover his face. He silently holds the door as banditos, abnormally quiet, file through quickly as to not be caught by security, citizens, or worse, bishops. For some reason, the black on the bodyguard’s neck feels as though it dripped to his own. He shuts the door behind himself, locking it. Torches light the way as the night sky casts a slow glow to the exit at the other end of the tunnel. Banditos are quiet for the most part, until about halfway through the hand-dug tunnel, when they start shouting and celebrating for the haul. Lots of new supplies, food, necessities, and recreational items that would help boost morale in the camps.

Bandit walks stiffly, eyes focused on the ground. He doesn’t think he can breathe, really. His sternum feels sliced open as if fingers were poking his little ribs around. Skin weepy and eyes trembling, the tunnel walls begin to darken in his vision.

“Bandit? Hey. Hey Bandit.” Footsteps are a bit faster behind him, then a hand gently touches at his arm. He’s losing himself. His brain takes a few moments to register the voice.

“Hey, Jenna. What’s up?” He feigns a smile, eyes trembling as he glances at her momentarily. Jenna slows him, so they were behind all the other banditos, torchlight illuminating her face only partially.

“What happened back there?” Her voice lowers. “Josh. You know you can tell me. We’ve been in this together since we were born.” Jenna had been born in Dema, but was one of the first rescued by the previous leader of the Banditos. Josh was simply born in Trench, but closer to the outskirts of the city. Jenna stops Bandit, palming at his face but not lowering the bandana he always wore. “Something’s up, I haven’t seen you that scared in a long, long time, and… you weren’t even that afraid when one of the bishops chased you through the Cliffs.” Bandit’s smile fades. “Also, your knife is missing.” She adds, matter-of-factly.

At that, Bandit hurriedly checks his pockets, his knife holster. He turns up empty handed, eyes drifting to Jenna’s, wide and nervous. He doesn’t have an answer, he must have dropped it in the worship hall when he scrambled away.

“I.. I don’t know… there’s this… I…” Bandit’s face scrunches up nervously. “Wh-what if I just tell you later tonight? Come to my tent and we can talk. O-okay?” Something metal in his mouth bursts and tears boil.

Jenna doesn’t speak, only pulls Bandit into a gentle hug, hand sliding under his beanie to stroke his curls just the slightest amount. She knows to not speak, to not say much or else Bandit’s weepy chest might break. She acts as his spine as he does hers.

 

They walk in the torchlight to the end of the tunnel, the grassy cliffs breathing, caressing the metaphorically sliced sternum before it became infected from exposure. The banditos begin to put out their torches as they pass into the community of camps, varied and expansive. Vultures caw at the top of the main hall, built into the cliff face with lanterns lit along the rocky sides. The bonfire roars as the kitchens get prepared for the morning that would be coming soon. Bandit moves past the crowd of banditos meeting others, celebrating the successful return from the raid. He lifts the flap to his tent, exhaling breath he never realized he had been holding.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to check out my boyfriend @semi_automatic's companion fic to this one, sort of a parallel! Thank u guys for reading!


End file.
